


It's not your soul

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, BAMF Kevin, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Crowley Being Crowley, Crowley meets his match, Demon Deals, FTM, First Time, Frottage, King of the Crossroads Crowley, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Kevin, Trans Male Character, does this count as college AU?, epic sass-off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7350985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I read “While you’re at it, keep the nightlight on” by SaunterVaguely (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1150285 impressive - go read!) and it inspired me to write this. </p><p>AU where Kevin actually makes it to Princeton. Crowley is still King of the Crossroads and Kevin has a deal to request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not your soul

“Let me guess.” Crowley slips his hands into his trouser pockets and leans against the wall, surveying the room with leisurely indifference. “Top grades. Pass with distinction.”

“ _Please_ ,” comes the derisive answer. “As if I need to make a deal with the devil to get top grades.”

Crowley frowns. “ _A_ devil, not _the_ devil. Good lord, I’ve got more class than _that_ attention-seeking trust fund baby.” The kid’s got spunk. And smarts too, if this summoning set-up is anything to go by - no crossroads at midnight deal, this: yanking the top dog to his private apartments in person no-less. Although - Crowley glances again around at the identikit dormitory room with its twin beds and bland blond wood and wrinkles his nose – ‘private apartments’ might be a generous assessment. As might 'smarts' be, considering the lad has dragged him here, yet entirely neglected to set up any kind of devil’s trap or protection. Still. Crowley does love a trier.

“No closer.” Alright. Perhaps not quite so unprepared after all. The kid brandishes a little pig-sticker that looks like a letter opener and Crowley recognises silver. He raises an eyebrow. Useless. Misguided. But showing forethought.

“Alright kid. You got balls.” The boy winces at that. “You have two minutes to state your business,” –he checks his watch- “and then I decide whether to leave, or redecorate your dorm room walls with your entrails. Starting…now.” The kid swallows, visibly. Drops the blade. Crowley takes his sudden choked silence as opportunity to study him more closely. About 19, maybe. Jeans with a belt, and a button-up that's buttoned right up. Slender and pretty, shaggy dark hair and peach-fuzz beard and slim clever fingers that twist nervously in his lap for all his bravado. Oh, Crowley does hope he gets to close this deal. He rolls his eyes, makes an encouraging hand gesture that has the boy flinching back against his squeaky computer chair. “So what shall it be? Fame? Success?” He raises a brow. “A young lady?”

And the kid clears the tremor from his throat and raises his chin stubbornly and says, "Make me a man."

“Excuse me?” Crowley cocks his head as if he’s not quite heard right and the movement will dislodge the obstruction.

“Make me a man,” he repeats, hesitantly.

“What, like... Rocky Horror?” Crowley pulls a face. “I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific.”

“I mean…” The kid is stammering now, a fetching bright flush across his broad cheekbones. “I want to be a real man.”

Oh. Oh Lordy. Another one. "Ah. The ol' extra inches?" Crowley clears his throat. "Loathe as I am to do myself out of honest business, but - spoiler alert - a bigger willy might not be _quite_ worth your soul in eternal flaming torment before you've even hit your thirtieth. Learned that from… a friend."

The boy stares at him for a second and then frowns. "No! I don't want... I mean, I _do_ , but... I'm... I mean… Make me into a man. Biologically."

“What, you want me to - what? Age you up?” Crowley is honestly perplexed and that doesn't happen very often. “Get you laid? Wait, are you coming onto me?” A little spark of interest blips into existence at that idea, but the boy just looks aghast - a little _too_ aghast, in Crowley's honest opinion; it’s really not _that_ awful a concept.

“What? No! No. Can't you... You really can't tell?”

“Crossroads demon, love. Not psychic.”

“I'm transgender.” The kid blurts out.

Crowley blinks. “You mean...” Crowley makes a vague gesture at the kid's crotch. “The plumbing doesn't match the cladding?”

“Oh my _God_ , dude.” The boy's exclamation is half disgusted, half astonished.

Crowley holds up his hands, placating. His voice is smooth. “Sorry. _Touchy_. So...” His eyebrows lower, teeth pinching his bottom lip. “You want to wake up in the morning in a brand new meat-suit, extra sausage?”

“Yes. I mean. Please. That'd be great.” The relief in the kid’s voice would be heart-breaking if Crowley had a heart to break. He tilts his head.

“Far be it from me to judge...”

“Knock yourself out.” The kid narrows his rather gorgeous dark eyes. “I've been judged my whole life, why stop now?”

“I just don't know why you'd want to condemn yourself to an eternity in the pit just to-“

“What? Be myself? Finally?” Crowley isn’t sure if it’s fierceness or desperation that has the boy leaning forward, face like thunder.

“You're not yourself now?”

“Of course I am. I'm not the problem. It's everyone else.”

“So you're damning yourself to Hell because of what everyone else thinks of you?”

“Yes, because it's _just that simple_.” His glare could floor a politician. Crowley feels a kindling of something a little more interested than idle, baseline lust. “You wouldn't know what it's like, being stuck in a body you hate.”

His voice is low, carefully unconcerned. “I think I might have an inkling.”

The boy folds his arms. “Aren't you supposed to be trying to convince me, not talking me out of this?”

“What can I say? I'm a fair businessman. I don't sell rubbish - well, not to those who don't deserve it. And you seem to have a lot going for you. What's your name?”

“Kevin. Kevin Tran.” He raises a finger as Crowley opens his mouth. “Shut up, I've heard it before.”

“Sorry.” Crowley’s smirk is impossible to stifle even if he wanted to, because _of all the shitty luck_ – “That's just...”

“I _said_ , drop it.”

Crowley’s smirk widens proportionately to the kid’s scowl. “I like you, Kev. And believe me, I never like anybody.”

“So, help me, then.”

“I'm trying to. If you'd just hear me out-“

“Would you voluntarily stay in this body?” Kevin says testily, very much _not_ hearing him out, and a little wicked thrill courses through Crowley’s necessaries.

“Is that an invitation?”

“No! No. I mean...” He frowns, frustrated. Crowley shrugs.

“Sure. Why not.”

“You’re a _demon_. Doesn't that mean you can have any body you want?”

Someone’s done their homework. From extra-curricular texts too; Crowley is actually impressed. He raises his eyebrows, gives a little nod. “And I choose this one. A lot of people would argue it's not the model of conventional attractiveness either.” His tone clearly states that those people definitely deserve neither opinions nor drivers licenses, probably. Kevin’s response is softer. Honestly curious.

“Then why do you keep it?”

“Darling. Have you heard this voice? Seen these eyes? I like it. It feels... _Mine_. And, you know, there are other aspects...” Crowley puffs out his chest. “Oh, don't give me that look. What can I say, old habits die hard.”

His companion looks dubious. “You wouldn't put up with not having a cis male body.”

“I've had a lot of bodies. Male, female. Granted, never transgender. Yet. You're tempting me to try it, though. I do enjoy a bit of variety.”

“You sound like a tourist.”

“If there's one thing a century on the racks of Hell teaches you, it's that it's what's inside that counts.”

“A century?” The pause drags. The kid avoids his eyes, hands twisting. Crowley starts to feel restless. Paces to the other wall to nosey at a noticeboard full of photographs. Behind him, Kevin clears his throat quietly. “I read that a year in Hell is like... forty years... That's...”

“Mmmm.” Crowley plops the pile of papers he’s been sifting through back on the top of the nightstand and turns back to the desk and its occupant. “Save your sympathy, Kev. It's what made me the man I am.” He flutters his eyelashes.

Kevin snorts. “Character building through suffering. Subtle.”

“I'm not here for a pep talk.”

“But you’re still here.” The kid bites his full lower lip. Says, hesitantly, “So. What are you? Inside?”

Curiouser and curiouser. “You want to see? I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“How about you show me yours and I'll think about it?”

Crowley cocks his head. “Tempting offer. If your ulterior motive is to get me out of my vessel all vulnerable though, I have to say – heads-up: no less of a threat without the meat-suit, sugar.”

He takes a step forward. Kevin wheels his chair back with an alarmed squeak, until it hits the desk behind him. His voice though, sounds genuinely contrite. “I’m… I’m sorry. I was curious. I should know better.”

“No apologies. Ever. Not unless they’ll get you somewhere. And on that note, I reckon I’ll be off.”

The boy looks disappointed and there’s no ‘almost’ about it. “You really won’t cut a deal with me?”

“Nope.” Crowley casually inspects his nails.

“Aren’t you, like, bound by rules or whatever?”

“Nope.” He glances up.

Scrubbing at his face with both palms, Kevin runs his hands through his hair. He looks disgusted, but not too surprised. “Ugh. Why does this always happen to me?” A long sigh. “OK. I guess then – it was… _interesting_ … meeting you-“

“Crowley.”

“Crowley.” The boy repeats. He sounds defeated, but he’s hiding it pretty well.  
  
Crowley runs a single finger along the edge of the desk (it’s admirably dust-free). He quirks a brow. “Shame, though.”

“What?” Kevin raises his head, not a jot of hope in his eyes.

“You know how crossroads deals are sealed..?”

“With a kiss.” His voice is flat. Homework paying off again.

Crowley says, “Mmm. You know, seeing as I've come all of this way and all, don't suppose you'd fancy doing that part anyway. You know. Seeing as I'm here.”

“Why?” He sounds wary, but… not as scandalised as Crowley might have expected. Plucky little thing. Crowley’s voice slinks down a register. He takes another step closer.

“Handsome boy like you. Not many clients answer me back. You're so… _bolshy_. Gives me a little tingle in my nethers.”

The kid swallows again. His voice comes out strangely rough. “I'm not agreeing to anything.”

“Darling. I'm a demon, not a monster.” Crowley steps closer again, till he’s between the boy’s parted legs. Kevin leans back in his chair, eyes wide, gazing up at him. Literally backed into a corner.

He says, “This isn't a deal. You don't get my soul unless we make a proper deal.”

“It's not your soul I'm interested in.”

Leaning down, Crowley’s lips ghost across Kevin’s and he’s not imagining that the boy angles into it, _arches_ even, as he breathes a shaky, “Oh God.”

“Not even close.” Crowley says, and closes the last millimetre between them with a pleased little murmur.

His lips are like velvet, soft and dry and warm, and he closes his eyes like it’s a reflex, but he’s the first to press his tongue, hot and wet, into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley smiles against his lips. He has that effect on people. When the kid pulls back, breathless, he says, “I don't do this.”

And Crowley, both hands braced against the unsteady arms of the kid’s chair says, “What? Demons or casual hooks ups? Funny... You look so much like you're a real player.”

“Shut up.”

Crowley grins, all teeth. “Shut me up,” and the boy runs a nervous, _delightful_ , tongue over his lips.

“This isn't... I can't just... I don't even _know_ you... You're a _demon_.”

“Extraordinary situations call for extraordinary reactions.” Crowley brushes his mouth against the curve of Kevin’s ear, still boxing him into the chair with his arms, and the kid _shivers_. “Like you said. I'm not human. If it eases the good-boy guilt any, you can always pretend you're screwing a figment of your imagination. A glorified wank, if you will.” His lips move to caress a stubbled cheek. “Who'd ever know?”

The boy’s voice is breathy. Lower. “Seems a little harsh.”

“What does?”

“A glorified... I mean. You seem... alright.”

“Good grief, do I?”

He steals another kiss and the boy whimpers against his lips. Manages, “Well... you were honest with me... about the... _I can't concentrate while you do that_.”

Crowley’s mouth moves from Kevin’s jaw to his throat, dragging out a lovely little reticent moan. “I must be slipping.” He’s all but purring. “My reputation will be ruined. I should do something appalling to make up for it. Would you like to help me?”

“I should banish you.” He’s holding it together with evident difficulty now: it’s satisfying.

“Mmm. Probably.” Crowley pulls back, regards the boy beneath him. Tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “ _Can_ you banish me?”

“Yes.”  The conviction in his voice is so strong, even when he’s a trembling mess pooled low in his chair, that Crowley feels the corner of his mouth quirk up in an involuntary smile.

“Go on, then.”

“I don't...”

“You don't _what_? You can't banish me. Of course you can't.”

“I –“ His voice raises a little as he squeezes his eyes shut. “ _I don't want to_.”

Crowley’s knuckles whiten around the chair arms. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

“Because you...” His eyes are still closed, dark lashes shimmering against his smooth skin. “When people… _know_ , they treat me differently. Most of them don't mean to, but they do. They either treat me like a girl, or they overdo it. They can't help it, it's just in their eyes when they look at me - they try, but they don't really _believe_ in me. You... When you look at me...”

“ _How_ do I look at you?” Crowley's voice drops lower. He grins, scenting prey.

Kevin's eyes widen. “Like you...” He wets his lips. “You look at me like you...”

“Yes?” Crowley tips the chair back, ever so slightly. His knees brush Kevin’s inner thighs. The boy swallows.

“Screw it. Come here.”

His hands are sudden and insistent, catching Crowley off guard. The chair squeaks protest, not really made for one, never mind two, as Crowley is pulled unsteadily, half straddling Kevin’s lap, half braced against the chair arms. Slender hands sneak around his waist and Crowley risks letting go of the furniture to wrap his arms around the kid’s shoulders, fisting one hand into the back of Kevin’s shaggy dark hair as he angles the boy’s mouth for maximum access. Kevin kisses like he’s drowning, hips straining up against Crowley’s arse, fingers combing down the back of his jacket. When he comes up for air, Crowley glances pointedly at the narrow bed with its blue and white striped duvet, and Kevin nods, flustered. When he stands, they’re suddenly eye-to-eye: he’s taller than Crowley expected, for all his slightness, and it’s surprising, although he still allows Crowley to manoeuvre him around towards the bed, sitting heavily and peering uncertainly up through his fringe. Crowley sits next to him. Places a hand on his thigh. The other, lightly, on the back of his neck. The kid leans in without further prompting, his mouth eager. But when Crowley’s hand tugs at his belt, he pulls back again with a small sound of protest. “No?” Crowley’s hand stills. Hovers.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Fingers dance along tooled leather. “Second option gets my personal vote, pet.” Kevin looks like he wants it. Scratch that, he looks like he’s _starving_ for it. A tentative reciprocal hand at Crowley’s waist and Crowley covers it with his own – larger, broader, _yes_ – encouraging as the kid palms down between Crowley’s legs, hisses a breath in between clenched teeth at what he feels there. “Anything you want to do, Kev. Anything at all.”

“…OK.”

“Yeah?”

“ _Yes_.”

His breath comes faster as Crowley gets into his kecks, one big hand slipping beneath the elastic waistband of his shorts. Crowley's voice buzzes against Kevin’s throat, mouthing against the constriction of his collar. "Such the conscientious student. All buttoned up tight.” The kid shivers beneath the whisper of Crowley’s lips. “You know that you can't last forever like this: to function you need to rest. Relax. All work and no play makes Kevin a very pent-up boy indeed." His fingers move lower, caressing twitching stomach muscles, brushing coarse curls. "When was the last time you were touched? Touched yourself?"  
  
"I don't... have much opportunity for interpersonal relationships." His hand is a vice around the wrist of Crowley's exploring hand, seeming undecided if he wants to push him away or pull him closer, his face a glorious picture of agony and ecstasy. It's all just too perfect. Crowley eases him back onto the bed so they're both half lying. Cards his fingers as best he can through the curls between the boy’s legs, the constriction of underwear and jeans keeping Crowley’s hand close as much as hampering his movement. When Crowley’s fingertips brush, _right there_ , he feels him wet and stiff and the kid's entire body tenses, his mouth gasping wider.

"Hard for me already."

" _Fuck_... _Please_... _Touch me_." His mouth seeks Crowley's, blindly, hands clutching at Crowley’s shoulders, as Crowley leans up to improve his angle, fingers rubbing diligently.

The boy’s hips rock, pushing against the hand hidden in his unzipped jeans. Lovely, but not enough. Crowley murmurs, "Take your shirt off for me, pet. I want to see some skin,” and Kevin scrambles to comply, fingers falling over themselves on buttons. It’s a nice surprise. Crowley had expected him to require more coaxing, but when he slips his hand out of the kid’s pants in order to push the shirt from his shoulders, he can see why he didn’t. “Well, aren’t you something else?” White teeth press paler dents into the boy’s full lower lip as he arches beneath Crowley’s mouth, as Crowley’s tongue maps his chest, all lovely lean muscle. Draws a wet circle around each perky little nipple, following the paler circular path of faded scars. “I have a love of rare and beautiful things. It's a weakness of mine.” His lips must tickle, breath like a touch, or perhaps it’s the brush of his facial hair that’s causing that blush to spread down the boy’s throat. “Changing this body would be like putting arms on the Venus de Milo.”

“You do realise that could be construed as kinda an offensive analogy don't you” -Kevin’s breathless voice breaks- “Oh god _yes_ , do _that_.”

Crowley smiles against smooth skin. “I'm an offensive kind of guy. But I'm always honest. And I know what I like. And I like what I see.”

“Me... too…”

When Crowley glances up, the boy is gazing down at him, wide-eyed. “Is that so?”

“Show me.” It’s as much of a command as a plea and if that doesn’t just make Crowley’s dick twitch.

“It would be my pleasure, kitten.”

That frown again, fighting to stay in place as he avidly watches Crowley’s hands unknot his tie. “Do you talk to all your guys like this or are you being an asshole especially for me?”

“Hazard a guess, princess.” That actually gets him a quiet laugh. Quick learner, this one. “Although, you _are_ a little special.”

“What do you mean?” Suspicious, slightly sharp – _very_ quick learner.

Crowley tilts his head, looking down at the half-dressed vision sprawled beneath him. “Let's not be disingenuous here. There's not a man alive I couldn't break in two with a thought. Physical prowess doesn't butter my crumpet.”

“What does?”

“Intelligence. Imagination. Spark.” Graceful hands creeping up to rest against his thighs. Thumbs dragging, tracing the outline of his cock through his trousers. Crowley’s eyelids slip closed, chin tilting up and lips parting. “Oh, yes. Do that.” He has his jacket off, shirt half undone already, but Crowley’s patience runs out abrupt as sand from an hourglass and with a wave of his hand, the rest of his clothes dissipate like black smoke. The little shocked noise the kid makes is utterly rewarding, hands still all over Crowley’s _talent_ , suddenly bared to his touch. To his credit, he doesn’t miss a beat, fingers curling into a loose hold that makes Crowley push his hips forward, wanting.

“Wow. You're…” Kevin’s voice is breathy. Weirdly awestruck. Crowley raises an eyebrow. Long fingers map the curve of Crowley’s thighs almost reverently, trace the paler flash of stretch marks across his hips, pinch tightly at his waist.

“Beautiful? Impressive?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Mmm.” There’s not a trace of insincerity in the boy’s tone. Crowley goes down onto one elbow, bringing them closer together, resting heavily against the panting body beneath him. His right hand resumes its quest. Kevin lets out a low moan. The slightest touch. So wet. His handsome face scrunches up in effort not to cry out. All those hormones zipping around his system, all pent up, poor little human…

“Don't-” That, gasped, hips electric-jerking.

Crowley’s exploring fingers slip further. “Are you sure?”

“Oh-” It sounds half-stuck in the kid’s throat as Crowley’s fingertips brush the tight clench of his arsehole, thumb circling against his dick.

“Say the word and I'll stop,” Crowley says, not stopping. The hand currently gripping his wrist, pushes his hand further.

His voice is urgent, begging gasps. “Don't stop. Touch me. Harder.”

Touch-starved and desperate and hungry and demanding. Wet against his palm. Crowley smiles against the boy’s throat, drags teeth in the wake of his kisses, rocking against the rough denim still covering Kevin’s thighs. “Sweetheart, do you want me?”

“God, yes.”

“Fingers or cock?”

“I've never...”

“Never..? Neither?” A little shake of his head, eyes challenging and almost angry, thick dark hair flicking against the blue and white pillowcase. “With a man or with anyone?”

“Nobody.” His tone dares Crowley to comment. Crowley wouldn’t dream of it.

“Handsome boy like you? Criminal waste. Tsk.” He tuts, smiling to show he’s teasing – not that Kevin would be likely to object when he’s squirming to his touch. “ _Nerds_. Well, I'll have to make sure this is extra good for you then won't I?”

“OK.”

“OK.” Crowley’s still straddling the kid’s thighs as he inches his jeans down, bunched up with his underwear. When Kevin lifts his hips to assist Crowley has to bite his lip. Gets the offending items down past Kevin’s knees and the kid kicks them off. White socks. Crowley’s mouth quirks up into a lopsided smile – it’s like he dreamed this one up himself. Kevin keeps his legs firmly clamped together as Crowley leans back, stroking himself slowly. Slender legs, pale and dusted with hair that thickens at the V of his thighs. Flushed arousal just peeking out of those dark curls: Crowley’s mouth waters. His voice is a mesmerised rumble. “Now _that_ is a pretty little cock.”

“Don't patronise me.”

“Tall order, blossom. I patronise everyone, it's a hard habit to break.”

Kevin opens his mouth as if he’s going to argue the point, but it clamps shut again over a blissful groan when Crowley leans down, laying them flush against one another, dicks sliding together. “You’re forgiven,” Kevin decides. His arms twine around Crowley’s neck, pulling him closer. “Just for God’s sake, kiss me.” His tongue is wet and bolder by the minute. His hips lift, bucking upwards, grinding them clumsily together. The tip of Crowley’s cock wet against his belly. The boy’s eyebrows come together, a frown of frustration; pleasure but not-enough. “Move. Please.” Crowley hurries to oblige, slipping first one then the next knee between the kid’s thighs. When Kevin brings his legs up to wrap around Crowley’s waist, Crowley exhales a blissful moan. It alters the angle, gives Kevin more purchase to rock against him and oh heavens, Crowley is getting close, and so is his companion if the way every dragging breath is getting harsher is anything to go by.

Crowley braces on one elbow, cradles the back of one of Kevin’s thighs with his other arm, sliding his hand around to palm at the boy’s delicious round backside. Purrs, “I'd like to feel you come on my cock while I fill that tight little arse.”

Kevin shudders. Eyes tight closed. Whispers stuttering against Crowley’s lips, “What if I want... _your_ tight… little arse?”

Oh, yes. Crowley’s cock twitches, soaking. So close. “Oh _darling_... it's yours.” When Kevin presses fingertips against his lips he doesn’t think before taking them in, smooth against his tongue, the boy’s eager mouth following, pressing against his so they’re both licking around his first two fingers; fingers that sneak down then, to push, awkwardly angled but delicious, between Crowley's arse cheeks. Crowley groans, “Oh, _gods_ , yes.”

“Yes _sir.”_

“Yes _sir_ ,” Crowley repeats, captivated. It’s that which does it. He lets out a rapturous moan as he spills across the boy's taut belly and almost immediately the body beneath him is stiffening in answer, wracked with spasms as Kevin grits his teeth, eyes squeezed shut and mouth falling open around a cry of shattered relief, shuddering through his completion. His head falls back on the pillow. Skinny chest heaving. Crowley drops his forehead to it for a moment, feels the frantic beat of his heart. Regrets for a second letting this soul go. When he lifts his head again, Kevin is still breathing deep. He wrinkles his nose. Opens one eye to peer at Crowley; just as quickly screws it up closed again. His voice is low.

“Just… go.”

“Huh?” Wasn’t expecting that one. “No snuggling? Sweetheart, I feel almost used.”

He makes to stand, but the kid’s fingers tighten around his biceps. Kevin licks his lips, pink from kisses. His eyes are still closed, a tense line between them. “That was amazing.”

Better. “That is true.”

“That was amazing and now I’ll never see you again so just… leave.”

Instead of standing, Crowley rolls to a reasonably elegant dismount, lying only a little awkwardly on his side on the narrow bed decidedly not made for two grown men. “Would you _like_ to see me again?”

“You’re a demon,” Kevin says, as if that’s answer enough. Which perhaps it is, but Crowley is nothing if not persistent.

“We all have our little foibles, love.” The boy snorts a laugh. His hand moves to rest on Crowley’s waist. It feels nice. Warm. Untainted. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Kevin’s voice is a murmur. “You can’t have my soul.”

And Crowley says, “I told you already. It’s not your soul I’m after anymore.”


End file.
